Chapter 373: Humanity's Greatest Invention Is the Toilet

He stared at the mobile phone screen, his fingertip pausing slightly the moment he closed the browser.

After a moment, he raised his head, leaned back in the seat, and sank into contemplation; the sound of raindrops striking the car window was like some urging, again like a silent warning, making people increasingly irritable.

In the end, Zhao Xing still could not suppress the unease in his heart.

He slowly exhaled a breath, picked up his phone, hesitated for an instant, swiped through the contact list, and dialed Lou Duan's number.

The beeping sound of the signal waiting to connect echoed inside the car, making hearts feel increasingly heavy.

At the same time, Lou Duan stood by the window, gazing blankly upward at the distant rain curtain hanging from the horizon.

He did not hear the ringtone, or rather, he heard it but did not pay attention.

His line of sight passed through the dense rain lines and fell upon the torn mechanical entrails of Upper City—those chrome-plated drain outlets contracted and expanded rhythmically, as if the digestive system of some giant creature was undergoing its final wriggling.

Rainwater flowed along the edge of the pipes, refracting a cold light on the metal surface.

This reminded him of the dead bodies he had seen on the autopsy table, skin lifted by forceps, revealing jumping organs.

It was just that now, what was being dissected was a steel god.

His throat moved slightly, his gaze wandering over the neatly arranged drain outlets. The layout of those pipes inexplicably reminded him of the star charts of the Ancient Era.

It was just that on the star chart before his eyes, there were no longer constellation names like Scorpio, Libra, or Cancer; instead, they were all abstracted "Toilet Constellations."

Scorpius became the Flush Toilet Constellation, Lyra became the Smart Toilet Lid Constellation, and Orion's belt was replaced by three squat toilets in a row.

All kinds of toilet constellations gradually formed another kind of starry sky in Lou Duan's mind.

Lou Duan's mouth corner curved slightly; his train of thought was pulled back by this wonderful association to the past, back to that simple and distant childhood.

He saw his father holding him, standing before that old-fashioned flush toilet, the ceramic surface glowing with a warm luster, like the moon.

"Watch closely, son."

There was a certain solemnity in his father's voice,

"This is one of humanity's greatest inventions; it can flush away all the dirty things our bodies don't need, making everything clean again."

Young Lou Duan widened his eyes, watching the vortex-like water flow roll away the filth.

At that moment, he understood the first "basic common sense of being human":

Filth can disappear; as long as it is flushed away by the toilet, he himself would become clean again.

His father smiled and patted his head, that voice like a hammer, deeply driving this sentence into his memory.

Lou Duan's face showed a look of nostalgia; he lowered his head to look at the flashing name on his phone, and spat out two words from between his teeth:

"Toilet!"

The phone finally connected; Lou Duan held the phone to his ear, the nostalgic expression on his face gradually fading, replaced by an increasingly gloomy coldness.

However, the voice when he spoke was completely different from his expression, low and warm, wrapped in a reassuring power:

"……I have been observing the development of the situation; you don't need to panic too much. Qian Huan's trump cards have all been played; he won't be jumping around for a few more days."

"Now is the darkness before dawn; bear with it a little longer. To prevent Qian Huan from jumping the wall when cornered and fighting like a trapped beast, do not conflict with him recently."

Zhao Xing in the car listened to the assured voice coming from the microphone:

"Like this: this week you don't need to go to the prison; find a reason to take sick leave, rest well at home, and avoid the limelight during this period."

"Rest assured, what is yours will surely not run away. When the winds and waves calm, the position of Prison Warden will naturally be yours."

Zhao Xing took a deep breath, impressed by Lou Station Chief's wisdom; one hour later, he drove slowly into the underground garage.

"Target has entered!"

"Target has entered."

The MC's voice seemed to rise from deep within the skull, processed by an effects card embedded behind the molars, carrying faint electrical static, transmitted directly into the cochleas of every member of Dui 103.

He stood in the shadows of the underground garage, water droplets rolling down his black raincoat.

Behind the lenses, the eyeballs rolled back eerily, pupils dilating into a deathly white; the entire scene of the underground garage was projected onto the eyeball surfaces—every raindrop's trajectory, every tire tread pattern, even the dust floating in the air, all were clearly visible.

At the unit gate, a bald man wearing slippers stepped with his soles soaked in a rainwater puddle.

He lowered his head and walked into the stairwell; the moment he lifted his foot, steam rose from his whole body, and a wisp of white smoke rose on his bald forehead, as if he had just been scooped out of a steamer.

"Move gently; the mission requirement is an accident!" The bald man's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing.

"Received!"

"Death is the归宿 of fate; living is the accident, hum—received."

"Received!"

Zhao Xing did not take the elevator.

As a Fourth Rank Martial Artist, his speed was one second faster than the elevator. In the safety passage, his figure turned into a residual shadow, and eleven flights of stairs passed in an instant.

The key turned, and the electronic lock emitted a "click."

The high-grade security door slowly sprang open, and the three insurance locks were released one by one.

As the former Zone Chief of the Death Security Bureau, Zhao Xing's security awareness was still not bad.

Zhao Xing took off his coat and stepped barefoot on the redwood floor.

In the study, the dim desk lamp automatically lit up.

Zhao Xing pulled open the curtains and stood before the floor-to-ceiling window; his reflection appeared on the glass, his brow tightly furrowed, still savoring Lou Station Chief's words.

He pressed the computer power button but did not notice that, outside the glass above his head, in a blind spot of vision, a figure in red was hanging upside down there.

Limbs twisted into eerie angles, like a huge spider stuck to the glass.

Her head hung downward, long hair cascading down, revealing a deathly pale face, mouth corner split to the ear roots, a long thin tongue slowly probing out, growing longer and longer; on the tongue coating, a layer of fluorescent patterns vibrated silently.

Zhao Xing sat back before the computer, his fingers reaching for the mouse.

At the very moment of clicking, the MC in the underground garage simultaneously tapped lightly on the mirror frame.

An invisible electromagnetic wave rippled through the air, like a stone cast into water, stirring up circle after circle of ripples; in an instant, darkness surged like a tide from the garage upward, swallowing the entire building.

The computer screen immediately went dark, and the room plunged into pitch blackness.

Zhao Xing froze for a moment: "Power outage?"

From brightness suddenly plunging into darkness, pupils need 1-2 seconds to recover vision.

Zhao Xing subconsciously blinked his eyes, ears trembling lightly, capturing some kind of faint abnormal sound.

That sound seemed to come from the Living Room ahead, yet also seemed to come from the window behind, appearing especially Qiyi in the darkness.

Zhao Xing suddenly widened his eyes, unbelievably, he actually blurily saw a human-shaped Outline appear in the Living Room, that Outline seemed condensed from darkness, edges blurred and unclear, yet emitting a hair-raising aura.

"Who?!"

Zhao Xing Horrified Stand Up, the Chair he sat on was knocked over by his Butt onto the floor, emitting a "Bang" loud noise.

Right at the instant he stood up, the human-shaped Outline sharply Zoomed in his Yan Zhen.

He "flowed" forward in a way that violated physical Gui Fan, like fast-forwarded videotape Painting frames.

Zhao Xing's Retina still retained the Residual Shadow/Afterimage from before his movement, but a bald head had already pressed against his nose tip, those black teeth exhaling an indescribable Qiyi smell, brushing against his face:

"Lighten up a bit, if the chair gets smashed, it won't look alike."

End of Chapter